An Awakening of Hope: What was…

by Alias

e-mail: <a href="/py/wmailCompose.py?Pyt=TWmail&[email protected]&FormId=,232,5FBAE78,3E00702,2E9577F5">[email protected]</a>

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Disclaimer: See the first part for the boring legal stuff.

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Chris turned the book over and over in his hands. A hallucination,

that’s what it had been. To much whiskey, to much time spent reading

that book, and not enough sleep the night before. He hadn’t been able

to put the book down, and had only gotten a couple of hours sleep

because of it. As for the whiskey, well, he had known exactly when he

should have stopped drinking, but…it dulled the pain. Always, it

dulled the pain, but never enough. Now though, especially now, he

wanted the pain dulled as much as possible.

He started when the smell of roses reached him, and wondered, for a

split second, if Mary had somehow entered his room without his knowing

it. Then he remembered Imala’s words "your ‘ghosts’ will be a little

closer to home." And he remembered someone else who had always

smelled of roses. He had half turned when a voice he had never

thought to hear again stopped him dead cold.

"Do you really? Need it, that is." Sarah. He turned, and it was

her, wearing the green dress she had made from the satin he had bought

her because she had mentioned once that she had seen a woman wearing a

green satin dress once when she and her mother went to Chicago, and

that she had thought it had been the most beautiful dress she had ever

seen.

Sarah moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, and he was amazed, as

he had always been, at how the sunlight peeking through the curtains

caught the red tints in her reddish brown hair and turned it into a

dark flame.

"Is it really so horrible to remember us? To think about us? Is it

really enough to drink whiskey and try to forget? Because you don’t

just forget the pain Chris, you forget the joy too."

"I…I.." No words would come, no words could come. She was right, and

she was…here. Sitting before him on is bed, looking as she had that

first Christmas, all those years ago. "Oh God." He whispered, so

quietly he barely heard himself, and stumbled across the room to sink

to his knees before her, wrapping his arms around her waist and

burying his face in her lap, feeling her arms go around him.

"It will be okay Chris, I promise."

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"Let her go!! Don’t you hurt her!!!"

Chris’s head jerked up from Sarah’s lap when he heard the child’s

voice. A boy, no more than six or seven. He saw the child before he

noticed anything else about where he was, across the room and pounding

on a door. Something was familiar about the thin boy with the dark

blond hair. Then he took in the rest of the room. The toppled tree,

the cranberries strewn across the floor…and he realized who the boy

was. It was him.

He remembered this Christmas. He had been six, and stringing the

cranberries when he had accidentally dropped the string and the

cranberries had rolled all over the floor. His mother had tried to

help him pick up the berries before his stepfather awoke from his

drunken stupor, but it was to late. He had cried out when he had

dropped the string, and it had been enough to wake him up. When he

had seen the mess and found out what had happened, he had yelled at

Chris for being so clumsy, and had knocked the tree over, claiming

that a child who didn’t have enough brains to string cranberries

didn’t deserve Christmas, and had been about to beat Chris, but his

mother had stopped him. Always Courtney Ravens had done that, stepped

between her son and her abusive husband, and always she had taken the

beating meant for her child, even though he often got beaten anyway,

though not as severely as he would have. This time, Cole Ravens had

dragged her into their room and locked the door.

Even now, over the child’s yelling, Chris could hear the sounds of the

beating, and more.

"NO!!!" He shouted, rising and rushing over to the door. "NO!!!!"

His pounding and shouting didn’t do him any more good than it had

then, and he felt just as weak now as he had all those years ago

"Chris?" He felt Sarah’s had on his shoulder. "Chris, it won’t do

you any good."

"Why?" He whispered, sinking to the ground, even as the little boy

beside him did the same. "Why did you bring me here?"

She knelt down beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he

turned his face into her shoulder, letting his tears spill onto the

green satin.

"I’m sorry Chris, but…we had to come here."

"Why?"

"You’ll see, I promise, you’ll see."

A few minutes later, the door opened, and the little boy beside him

glanced up fearfully. Instead of Cole Ravens, Courtney came out of

the room, her legs barely supporting her, and swiftly, quietly, closed

the door behind her. Chris—the young Chris—threw her self into his

mother’s arms, sobbing.

"I know sweetheart, I know." After a moment, her stood up, taking her

son by the hand. "Chris, grab that lantern and come with me, quietly."

"Why?"

"You’ll see, it’s a surprise."

Chris watched as the two left the house, and then realized that Sarah

was trying to pull him up.

"What?"

"We have to follow them. Lets go." Reluctantly, he rose, and they

followed the two out to the small stable.

Inside, Courtney had had her son set the lantern on the ground, and

had pulled a bag from a hiding place. Out of the bag came two

packages wrapped in brown paper, and adorned with what looked like

hair ribbons that had been tied together. Eagerly, the little boy

began to open one gift, but then stopped.

"What is it?

"I don’t have anything to give you Momma." Courtney smiled and hugged

her son. "I have your love, and that’s all I could ever ask for."

"It was candy?"

"Hmm?" Sarah inquired from Chris’s arms, where she had snuggled in

order to keep warm.

"I remember, that gift. There’s a big bag of candy inside it. And

the other is a book. I was to young to read it, but I was always

asking for a book, and so she got me one. We ate all the candy, and

she read the book for me. It was fairy tales. We shared the candy."

"That was sweet of you, to share the candy."

"Neither of us ate candy very much, and we felt sick afterwards."

"Good. It serves you right, to much candy is bad for you."

"You sound like a mother."

"I am a mother. You do realized what happened, right?"

"I got sick from eating so much candy?"

She laughed. He had never forgotten the sound of her laughter, like

the tinkling of tiny bells.

"No Chris, this could have easily been the worst Christmas of your

life. But it wasn’t. Instead, your mother turned it into something

beautiful. So why do you only remember, only want to remember, what

happened before. Why do you want to only remember the sad parts of

your life, and not the happy?"

"I…I don’t know. Maybe…because it’s easier."

"Easier to what?"

"To…to hate myself."

"Why? Why do you want to hate yourself?"

"Because, if I do, then maybe someday I’ll believe that I can’t have

what I want that I don’t deserve it."

"But you do Chris, you deserve everything you want, everything you

had, and so much more."

Chris hung his head.

"I know, but…I can’t."

"Yes, you can."

Suddenly, the coldness of the stable was gone, and they were in the

warmth of a house again. At a glance, Chris realized that it was

their house, not long after it had been built, and that Sarah, in her

green dress—new—was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, struggling

with opening a small box, and he was crouched down beside the chair.

He turned to the older Sarah, who was still by his side.

"What—?"

"Shhh."

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

"Well, I would if there weren’t so many layers of paper."

Chris hid his grin even as his younger self did the same.

Sarah poked him in the ribs. "What are you laughing at? It wasn’t

funny then, and it’s not funny now."

"Only from your perspective."

"Well my perspective is the one that counts."

Chris chuckled, realizing how long it had been since he had laughed.

That first Christmas, he had wrapped Sarah’s music box in ten layers

of paper. It had been a waste, yes, but worth it for the experssion

on Sarah’s face, both as she was trying to open the gift, and when she

finally got to it.

"Oh Chris…"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it

‘Love Bears All Things,

Believes All Things,

Hopes All Things,

Endures All Things.

Love Never Ends.

1 Corinthians 13: 7:8’."

"I though it was fitting, since I said those words in my wedding vows."

"Did you think I’d forget?"

"No." He rose from beside the chair and kissed her. "I just wanted

to make sure."

Chris felt a tear begin to gather in the corner of his eye, and felt

Sarah’s smooth fingers wipe it away as it threatened to fall.

"They’re beautiful words."

"Yeah, they were."

Her hand cupped his cheek and turned his face towards her.

"They aren’t just words Chris. They’re your heart. You have to keep

loving Chris, even if it hurts."

"I do love you Sarah. I’ll always love you."

"I know, and I’ve never doubted that. But you have to let the love

out Chris, you can’t just keep it bottled up inside, refusing to let

anyone into your heart again. Let yourself love again Chris. Let

yourself love just as much as others have always loved you."

"I can’t see anyone loving me anymore Sarah."

"Can’t you? Then turn aroubd."

Chris turned, and the walls of his house turned to charred ruins as he

did so. He could see a rider approaching. After a moment, he

realized that it was Buck.

"Where…when are we?"

"The first Christmas after Adam and I died."

"The first…why’s Buck here?"

"Why don’t you go and find out?"

He did, and reached Buck as he knelt down just outside the fence

around the two graves.

"Hey Sarah. It, uhm…it’s been a long time. Well, not that long.

But…I haven’t been here since you died, and I’m sorry. I’ve kept my

promise though, or tried to at least. That husband of yours is still

alive, no matter how hard he tries to change that. But…he hasn’t hit

rock bottom yet Sarah, not yet. But he will, soon. And when he does,

I’ll be there. Probably end up takin’ the worst of it too. But…he’s

my brother Sarah. Maybe not in blood, but he’s my brother in my heart."

Buck had received the worst of it. It had been only a few months

after this that Chris had hit rock bottom. He had been angry. Angry

that he was alive, and Sarah and Adam weren’t. Angry that Buck

wouldn’t just leave him alone and let him die. Angry that had let

Buck convince him to stay that extra night in Mexico. Angry that the

only person other than himself to blame was the only person left alive

that he loved. Buck had told him to shoot him that night, that if he

hated the world and hated himself as much as he said he did, and if he

wanted to die as much as he seemed to, then he might as well do it by

swinging from the end of the rope for a murder charge, because Buck

didn’t want to be alive when Chris got his wish. But Chris hadn’t

shot him. He almost had, for a split second, he had wanted to. But

Buck…Buck had believed in him enough, loved him enough, all those

months to follow him everywhere he went, and nothing Chris had done

had stopped Buck from joining in on any fights Chris got himself into,

even hitting Chris on the back of the head with a whiskey bottle once

when he had challenged a man to a duel and had barely been able to

stand on his own two feet. Buck won that fight. Buck had believed in

him enough—loved him enough, Chris was beginning to realize—to do

that, and so much more, even though all he received in return was

pain, and somehow, Chris had been unable to shatter that belief.

Sarah’s hand on his shoulder snapped Chris out of the reverie he had

slipped into.

"He loved you Chris, more than any brother ever could, he loved you.

And he still does, maybe even more than you love him. And he’ll never

stop Chris. He’ll never quit loving you, never quit believing in you."

"Buck…Buck has a lot of love in him. Always has. More love than I

ever had to give."

"That’s not true Chris, and you know it." Chris didn’t respond.

"Good bye Chris."

He caught her arm as she turned to leave.

"Wait—you can’t—"

"I have to. I can’t stay any longer."

"But you have to. I can’t—I can’t—"

"I know." She kissed him. "But you can Chris, trust me. If you just

let yourself believe in you, and have just a little bit of hope, you

can. I love you."

"And I…love you." But she was gone before he had finished the first

word.

Buck was gone, and so were the graves. It was nighttime suddenly,

where before it had been mid-afternoon. And there was a light behind

him. The house was back, and he went to look through the window.

Inside, he saw Buck lifting Adam to put the wooden star on top of the

tree, Sarah setting the table for dinner, and himself adding wood to

the fire.

"Thank you Sarah." He whispered. "Thank you."

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